Once broken glass glittered on pavement
In the cold November night within shuttered quarters.
Now metal fragments litter the ground
In the wastelands that housed villages.
What do we do when rage and fear
Make us forget what we sought to build?
When we close our ears to the wail of grief
That sounds the same torn from any throat?
When we break under the weight of repairing the world,
Who will hold us?
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